


Damn Good, Admiral

by thesadchicken



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Crack, Fluff, M/M, old married spirk, yep all of those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock doesn't remember. Jim does his best to help.<br/>Written for my tumblr bffl, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk">plaidshirtjimkirk!</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn Good, Admiral

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plaidshirtjimkirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAPTAIN!  
> I teamed up with the one and only spockshair and guess what happened? [This wonderful piece of art!](http://artsy-spockyyy.tumblr.com/post/119688965336/okay-so-big-happy-birthday-to-my-favourite-person)

Jim Kirk was busy picking on a slice of pizza when the idea first came to him. As he grabbed a piece of straying salami and stuffed it into his mouth, it hit him. He had tried everything since their arrival: nothing like a trip into the past to light the spark of passion in an old romantic like Spock right? Wrong. Of course, they had been concentrating on their mission for the larger part of their stay in the 20th century, but still. Nothing had stirred Spock’s cautiously restrained Vulcan emotions. Not even a long stroll by the water near Golden Gate Bridge; and that used to work perfectly well in the 23rd century. Poetry was obviously not going to do its job either. And he still hadn’t managed to convince Spock to stop addressing him as ‘Admiral’. Things weren’t exactly going the way he wanted them to. _Well, taking the meat off his pizza isn’t exactly working either_. Spock was grateful, he even graced him with the occasional “Thank you, Admiral” when he received his share of pizza from the Italian place Gillian showed them, but that was just about as intimate as they’d get. It was infuriating. He married the man! How could he be expected to just _forget_?

“It’s not his fault,” Jim muttered to himself, grunting as he stood up from where he was sitting, a pizza box in his hands.

Of course it wasn’t his fault, but that wasn’t really the point. Something had to be done or Jim was fairly certain he’d go insane. What could he possibly try that he hadn’t tried yet? He didn’t want to make his bondmate uncomfortable, so there were limited options… which he contemplated as he walked through the Klingon Bird-of-Prey’s hallways. He could actually take him to the Italian restaurant instead of bringing the food all the way back to the ship, for a change. Oh, but that would put them face to face with the imminent danger of Spock slipping up in front of a 20th century human and Jim not being able to catch him before it was too late. A present then, maybe? He had caught his husband staring longingly at an outfit displayed in a shop’s vitrine the other day –that is, he had managed to read Spock’s impenetrable gaze and stern features and figure out that the indifference in his eyes wasn’t indifference but, indeed, longing. _Years of marriage to a Vulcan do that to you_. But Spock would probably turn down the present or call it ‘illogical’. In either case, it wouldn’t be very romantic. No, he had to do something else, something that would pique Spock’s curiosity…

He reached the engine room where Scotty and Spock were working on repairing the warp core. He handed them the pizza box without a word.

“Thank you, sir,” Scotty smiled at him.

He nodded in acknowledgment. As Spock reached for his own, meat-free slice of pizza, James Kirk had an epiphany. He couldn’t help the grin that crept onto his face.

“Is everything alright, Admiral?” Spock asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“It will be,” Jim answered absent-mindedly.

~

The worst part had been finding out how much money he had to give to the impatient young woman at the counter. The more impatiently she chewed her gum, the more distressed Jim became. He eventually got it right –without anyone’s help, mind you- and walked back to the ship holding his head up proudly. The next challenge had been getting into the outfit; a tale better left untold, in Jim’s opinion. A lot of swearing and cursing and sweating later, he was finally ready –and not displeased with his reflection in the giant sized mirror he had found in the Klingon captain’s quarters (probably to fit his equally sized ego, Jim thought bitterly). After that, all he had to do was wait. So he waited, rather impatiently, picking books at random on a PADD he had found lying around and doing his best at unscrambling the Klingon letters on the screen, pacing across the room all the while.

~

When Spock walked into the captain’s quarters at the end of the day, he was greeted by the sight of Jim Kirk sitting on the bed in a wine-red jacket with an elbow placed on his knee. His tan chest was peeking out of an open white shirt, the collar curling around the base of his neck. Jim slowly lifted his head and slid a hand in his hair, looking up at Spock with languid fascination. The Vulcan paused at the entrance, hesitating for a small, almost imperceptible moment, before stepping into the room and letting the doors swoosh closed.

“Admiral?” he asked uncertainly.

Jim smirked in response. Spock’s initial surprise faded away as he watched his bondmate run his fingers through his hair then let his palm rest on the back of his neck, exposing more skin to the Vulcan’s entranced eyes. Spock took a step forward and Jim slowly pushed himself to his feet. They were face to face, bodies brushing, and Jim’s hand slid up his husband’s arm to cup his jaw. Then their eyes met and the moment shattered like glass, splashing Jim with cold water and hitting him with a violent pang of realization. Spock’s gaze was unfocused, distracted… he was somewhere else. Far away. Jim was certain there had never been this kind of distance between them, the kind of uncomfortable stillness that made the person he loved most feel like a stranger in his arms. It was unbearable to think of Spock that way. And what was even more maddening was the quietness with which the Vulcan surrendered; he didn’t ask him to stop, he didn’t push him away, he just stood there like a statue. The perfect image of pure Vulcan composure.

Jim turned away before their lips met. “I can’t do this,” he muttered.

Sighing, he let himself fall back down on the bed.

“You don’t remember, do you?” he asked an exasperatingly quiet Spock; “The way you feel about me? The way you used to feel…”

His voice trailed off and the rest of his words got stuck in his throat, but he caught himself before crumbling to pieces. He buried his head in his hands and waited for Spock to leave; it would be easier for both of them that way. But a few moments later he felt the weight of his bondmate sitting on the bed beside him and he looked up. Of course, Spock had never been one for the easy way out.

“I remember you wearing something similar to this on Milika III,” Spock said matter-of-factly, nodding towards Jim’s outfit.

For a moment the Human was utterly taken aback. He had been expecting to hear many things… but that was certainly not one of them. He frowned, trying to grasp what Spock was telling him. And then it came back to him: a blur of faces and places and a burgundy red outfit.

“Yes,” he gasped, probing his memory for more details; “Yes. The undercover mission on Milika III.”

Shaking his head, he stared at his partner with renewed awe. Spock wore his usual mask of sternness but beneath it, he looked lost and confused. There was something heartbreaking about the way he soundlessly stared back at Jim, weak and vulnerable underneath his cloak of emotionless silence.

“Spock, that was twenty years ago,” Jim said as he shook his head disbelievingly.

The Vulcan remained still, brown eyes locked on hazel ones, and Jim Kirk knew in that moment exactly what he had to do. He was going to wait. He realized Spock hadn’t forgotten his feelings for him: they were simply trapped inside the web of contradictions he carried inside him. He was stuck twenty years ago, back when his most profound beliefs constantly challenged his feelings. But he remembered: and that was all that mattered. Jim would wait as long as it took. Unlike the first time -when he had allowed himself to drown in self-pity and let go of everything he held dear- he would stand by Spock’s side and wait. _And when you’re ready, I’ll be here; I’ll help you through it all_. This time, he wouldn’t give up on him. And if they never recovered from this one, so be it. It had been Spock and him for two decades; it would be Spock and him from now on and until forever, even if the Vulcan never came to terms with his emotions. _I won’t give up on you. Not this time_. The silence lingered between them for a moment too long. Jim cleared his throat.

“Well, I suppose the sight must’ve been a lot prettier back then,” he said, looking down at his outfit in a pitiful attempt at humor.

“I had not noticed,” Spock replied, raising an eyebrow.

 _Is he…? Could he be_ flirting _?_ Jim's eyebrows raised and he tilted his head to the side.

“Oh really?” he grinned, already feeling much more comfortable; “How do you I look then?”

“Damn good,” Spock said, in his most perfectly controlled utterly impassive voice.


End file.
